He Lingers
by Phantom Syren
Summary: A short story on how perhaps he still lingers, even during the new construction of the opera house. I'll add more if you are intersted. Right now, it is complete.


_So I got to thinking, after being bored I made a short story. I enjoyed this musical a lot. Sadly I have not seen it on stage yet but one day I will. With the movie, book as well as the score in my hands on a sunny day, I decided to make this. Enjoy and any review is welcome._

**-He Lingers-**

Andrea, the young wife of a wealthy Scott was rather sick of a persistent accountant whom always attempted to take on a larger role than what he was called for. Whenever there was money involved he was a major asset to the old opera house, but then when it came to more he would get on the woman's nerves. Being English, she humored him by keeping her mouth shut with a tight-lipped smile but now coming to Paris since last year she had started to grow a backbone.

The accountant, Von Drenth, was one of the best one could ever hope to find in the realm of the money business. Tall and in his fifties, he new exactly how to play with money and did so much so that Andrea had no idea how his numbers worked, but he had gotten the half burned down opera house back under construction. Amazingly in half a year time, he had this place booming. But when it came to the reconstruction of the opera house, he was always attempting to get her to tell the construction director to make something else; do something else. And then he one day tried to get her to hand over the performing artist applications to him. She did not say yes or no to this matter and he was lecturing her about this again, yet the second week in doing so.

"Monsieur Drenth," she started, "might I be frank with you?" she appeared frustrated but then ready to give into his demands.

"Yes, Mademoiselle." He sounded confident that he had won the preforming artists applications from her.

The English woman gave a sigh, pulled her shoulders back and held her chin high before she spoke. "You'll not have them. The only time you will have them is when the day I die," she said in a calm tone before it grew with more fire in her voice. "Your job here is to see to it that the money is spent where it is to be spent, Monsieur. _Not _to see to it that you have your own office, rather than the corner of my study in which to work. _Not _to see to it that there is a whole new level for a larger bar in which the audience can enjoy during a performance, after, or therefore of, during an intermission! This is a place of music, dance and entertainment for the jolly old soul to enjoy without the influence of the intoxicating wines of Paris! This is not a pub nor an office building! And if I didn't know better, you wish to have those artist applications so you can violate this place more than it has been with its rich past of a so called haunting!" she panted as she said those last few words. "Now out of my sight! Go crunch numbers you brute!"

It was hard enough attempting to pull artists back to this place once it did burn. They were all afraid of the opera ghost. Having lost the most famously made Christine Daaé made no such haunting happen. And to put the workers in better cheer, Andrea had gone out of her way to supply them with wine in the afternoon as well as some baked goods.

She sighed once more as Drenth stood there, not a word escaping his mouth. "Do I make myself clear? Because I do not see you moving."

Nodding his head, he bowed and left without another word, sharply walking away. After only so long could she take anymore before she did give someone a piece of her mind that they would remember. She only hoped that the child in her whom would not be as tolerant of such people. She also hoped for it to be a boy, but with his father's red locks and not her black. Tall dark and handsome is what would draw most women to men these days, and this being her first born she did not want that.

Her mother goose attitude started in three weeks when she knew she was with child. It had not started to show yet in her appearance, and she was happy about that, otherwise, she feared the accountant would attempt to stress her more. She had heard that some women stress out far faster when with child as well as the stress causes them to miscarriage. That was the last thing she wanted. She didn't wish to disappoint her husband who was still in England, attending to the estate before fully moving to Paris with her. She had only been here a little over a month anyhow, and only living in a somewhat fashioned apartment. It was still spacious nevertheless in her opinion.

Setting her hand on her flat stomach she made her way back to her study and sat in the only comfortable chair there. She was glad though, the skeleton structures as well as some walls were put up in the opera house so far. It would still be nearly ten years before things would be up and running. God did this place have a cellar as well; one she got lost in easily upon her first week here. She had found her way out, amazingly after a few hours.

Sitting at her desk, she started to skim through a pile she had made the day before of possible artist that would be coming here, from over seas, in a years time to start rehearsing. The stage, as she had put it, was the most important thing to get done. Many performers from Germany as well as America were hoping for a spot here; in this Opera House. She wanted the best and her letters and announcements had gone out six months ago and letters with applications attached came streaming in every week. She still wanted and demanded the best. Anyone who sounded like they had something she would write back to, congratulating them on an appearance in the opera house in which they would be performing briefly to get a better idea of what she wanted there.

It was also uncommon to see a woman in charge here. Her husband thought it best that she take charge of something she had an interest in. The opera had been one. He had said she would revolutionize the way of thinking for women once she got recognition in the real world. She was reluctant at first, but then she had barely been out of England in her life so far. She needed this as much as her husband encouraged it.

She had shuffled across one letter though, that she had discarded in one pile she was planning on throwing away. As she flipped through her approved letters more, she found more that she had unapproved of and with narrowed eyes she cursed her accountant.

_Does he think me stupid?!_ She thought with an angry tone as she stood quickly. This was the firs time she had ever lost her thoughts in blind anger. He even went so far as to make sure that everything was how she set them.

"Von!" she hissed out. As if hell was at her heels, she stormed from her study to find her accountant. She had quickly found him down the street at a café, enjoying a sandwich. She still held in her fist the letters she had approved which had mixed in them the letters she had not.

"Do you have any idea how low this is!? This thing you pulled?!" she snapped at him in front of a fine French girl.

He did not look frightened but shook his head as he stood. "Mademoiselle, I have no idea what you speak of!"

"What do you call this then?" she asked, thrusting the papers towards him. "No one else is in my office except you!"

"But Mademoiselle!" her accountant stuttered, "I have never touched a thing on your desk, I swear to the heavens!"

She narrowed her bright blue eyes at him before shaking her head. "This is out of order of you. I should have you fired right here and now!"

Though now, one of the fellow workers who was seated at the booth across the room had walked over, a grin on his young youth before he cleared his throat and quoted her once he had both the accountant as well as her attention, "'there's no such thing as an opera ghost. He's left with the old, and it is in with the new.' Do you know how many times I have heard that, Mademoiselle?"

* * *


End file.
